


You Would Fall (and Turn the White Snow Red)

by Lyumia



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sort Of, Timeline What Timeline, Unreliable Narrator, inappropriate uses of semicolons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyumia/pseuds/Lyumia
Summary: Jaskier has a strange dream, and eventually reunites with an old friend.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 115





	You Would Fall (and Turn the White Snow Red)

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be working on something else, and then I wrote this in a day.  
> The title is from White Winter Hymnal, by Fleet Foxes.

Necklaces jingled around his father's fat neck, and his greasy were lips curled towards the visitors. He was no better than a dog baring its teeth. The guests thought nothing of this, their bodies warm from smoke and alcohol. They laughed, shrieked and danced in abandon. Hushed giggles rising from the crowd.

The guests would glimmer and dazzle under the candle lights. Gold, silver, and bronze jumping out under flames to outdo the other. Women doting on his boyish features brushed their hands through his hair, scraping emeralds and rubies against his skin when they cupped his cheeks.

So cute, they cooed, you should eat more. Get some muscles on you. Grow big and strong. Jaskier looked between the glistening meat and fruits laid out on the table and felt his stomach lurch.

Mother would shine brighter than the rest in her orange dress and pink pearls. Silk flowed about her legs, pooling on the floor where she sat. She was the sunrise, they would say. Loyal hounds perched on either side. Their teeth hung out from their black lips, and their eyes stared ahead into space. Green blush would spread on the cheeks of the crowd, their smiles baring wicked fangs. "He looks pretty like this. I wouldn't want him to end up with his father's constitution." Despite that, she pressed a flaky loaf of bread into his hands. The crust crunched beneath his uncertain fingers. The spices on the top flaked off onto his bright purple breeches. Her glassy green eyes dusted with gold around the pupils stared down at him. Imploring.

He bit into it: he tasted nothing.

He awoke with a groan. Torso lifting off the bed before the rest of his body could follow. Then he fell back down.

"Tell me bard" The sorceresses silky voice floated around him, even if he didn't see her in the room. "Do you always have such disturbing dreams?"

He rolled his eyes and sat up with his muscles protesting and something - that must have been important - cracking. "It must be a side effect from being around evil witches." He grumbled with no real malice.

In an instant she was there where nothing but air was before; book in her hand, but not facing him.

"Or near-death experiences." She hummed. Finally, she turned those violet eyes on him. "Come. All my hard work would be wasted if you died of starvation."

Stomach grumbling in agreement he made no effort to hide his grimace at swinging his legs off the bed.

It was unclear where they were. But the light going through the white curtains told him it was either dawn or dusk. Never one to remain silent for long he asked, "Where are we?"

"It depends." Was the cryptic answer.

"That's not cryptic or foreboding at all. I'm sure I can understand if you were to explain it. I was a graduate of Oxenfurt, you know!"

Stopping abruptly, he almost stepped on the back of her heel. It was only self-preservation that kept him from doing so. "I know."

He was sat in front of a long table, fork and knife in hand. His hands didn't move from where they rested on the wood. Metal clenched in his fist. A chorus of voices around him, rising to a deep rumble. Bread flew around the room and rambunctious laughed grated on the teachers who sat at the high table.

The occasional crash of feet on stone floors was enough for him to grasp onto the melody. The words coming into clarity, like rising from water - though his ears still rang.

Rich, brown beer was passed around in a flagon, and he found his cup filling quickly thanks to the two men on his side bickering over how much to fill up their classmates’ jugs.

To his right, a handsome blonde looked at him through his lashes, flagon in his other hand while he over shared. His eyes were green, vivid and bright. His lips all cherry from wine and white teeth nipping at them.

He whispered low in his ear with a lilt in his voice; reciting a dirty joke with a grin, and his ringed fingers scraping at his skin.

You're so pretty, he slurred. Your eyes shine brighter than diamonds.

Rubbish, laughing Jaskier smiled at his companion. Surely the son of a wealthy lord could manage something more inspired than a drunkards attempt at poetry.

You would know that quite well. The noble sneered, fingertips digging into his skin. Wine burned in the wound, flowing freely onto the table and spilling on the floor. A chill ran its finger up his spine, and the candles flickered out. He found himself alone, sat on the floor of the lecture hall. His Professor was standing at the isle between rows of creaking seats. Her lips moved but he could only hear -

"Jaskier?"

He blinked, eyes flicking up to meet the other. Now seated at the other end of the table. It was dark now. He couldn't hear anything outside - not the buzz of insects nor the hoot of an owl. Not a candle or torch was lit. "If I didn't know better, I'd say this is rather romantic." He blurted out, glancing at the food spread out on the table.

Yennefer smiled. Her teeth were far too sharp. And had her eyes always glowed in the dark? They were like Geralt’s. A flash of yellow appeared in the darkness. And he jolted, not recalling when he closed his eyes.

She was closer now, sitting right next to him. Those eyes with slit pupils bore into him. "Are you alright?"

"This is a very strange fever dream." He whispered, shaking with fear.

Yennefer placed a cold hand on his forehead, the sharp scrape of - something, against his skin where her nails would be. "Tell me about your Witcher."

"You would know more than I!" On shaking legs, he pushed back, chair legs creaking under the force. The chair didn't move - and she was smiling again. "What are you? If this is some elaborate plot to kill me then - then…"

Her gaze softened, pupils rounding somewhat. "It will make you feel better to talk about it." Leaning close, he felt woozy. Something cold breathed into his lungs, filling them up to the point of bursting. He could only close his eyes.

Fire danced across wood in the darkness, illuminating the dirt and casting long shadows on Geralt's face. His features now looked older, or haunted – that was the right word. His gloved fingers ran along the smooth curve of a bone. From where Jaskier sat on a makeshift bed - which was a collection of furs Geralt had graced him with, he strummed his lute. (Tired from him complaining about sleeping on the cold dirt.) "How old are you, Geralt?"

Slowly, he turned his head. Brow raised in question and yellow eyes staring at him.

"You haven't physically aged - even with your sour countenance. All that frowning is going to give you wrinkles."

Geralt turned his attention back to the darkness among the trees. "Hm."

"I suppose I'll have to live in suspense for another day." He looked at Geralt, eyes narrowing. "Or week. Month. Or I will never know. Keep your secrets. It will add to the mystery."

Those feline eyes narrowed at him. "I don't remember."

"What?" After he spoke the answer dawned on him.

Geralt tossed the bone aside.

"That's… sad."

A sigh.

The scene changed. Frigid cold seeped into his bones and the roads were not merciful. Geralt rode atop Roach. Both the mare and the rider seemed wholly unaffected by the cold. If he were not too busy blowing air on his fingers, he would have mentioned something about that.

He opened his mouth to say so, his complaint cut off by the clattering of his own teeth knocking together.

He didn't know why they were trudging through the cold. Grimacing when snow rushed into his boots and up his leg, the high mound swallowing his calf with jaws of ice.

The crunch underneath his boots drowned out his own thoughts, as he pondered at the strange request that had brought them out in the first place. Snow had fallen early and Geralt had kindly stopped at an inn at his begging when it was seconds away from a white-out.

Freak storms were occurring all year along the northern settlements, even in the midst of autumn and supplies were running low. Blood mixed pink with melting ice. People dying in their sleep.

And out they went. Geralt scanning the woods for monsters and himself tagging along. Lute strapped to his back following. "It's not real. Freak weather and folk tales." Geralt had grunted about their beast.

When he looked up to ask again if he was so certain, the Witcher was gone.

"Geralt?" He called out. "Did you leave me?" The road wasn't visible any longer amidst the trees, so he moved forward, shivering. "Geralt? You didn't leave me, did you? Geralt! Don't leave me!"

He stopped in a small clearing, trees closing in behind him. The roots cut into the snow, and they were roughly the size of a human leg and thicker. Drawing his hands under his armpits, he glanced around. A splotch of red catching his eye. He leaned closer - cringing at the sight when he came near it.

A Fox laid in the frozen dirt, eyes pecked out and mouth curled into a crooked grin. Massive vultures raised their necks, red feathers ruffling and opened their sharp beaks.

" _Geralt_?" They screeched. Slapping his hands over his ears he shouted when they mocked: " _You didn't leave me, did you? Geralt_?"

He stumbled back, plunging into a snowbank. The sky swirled above him and the vultures screeched landing around him. Their eyes glowing yellow. " _Geralt? Geralt?_ "

Talons pressed into his chest, and he could do nothing but stare wide eyed at the bird perched there. Its weight kept him pinned to the ground. It leaned close, whispering " _You left me_."

A strong gust of wind pushed snow over his face, burying him, and he screamed -

"Jaskier? Are you hurt?"

He blinked, staring down at his hands. The skin of his palms was red. Looking up he met the concerned gaze of his professor - a mousy haired woman with thick rimmed glasses and brown eyes.

The bell rung; shaking the walls and rattling his bones. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

When he woke, he laid on a bedroll. Blinking wearily, he was aware of how cold he felt. A blur of black moved around him. He reached up, his fingertips catching the barest hint of stubble and flesh. "Geralt? You came back?"

"I never left. Stay awake Jaskier."

"Don't leave," He begged.

"I won't."

It was close enough to a promise - or his word. Anything was good from Geralt. So, he exhaled. Smiled. And closed his eyes.

_"If life could give me one blessing it would be-"_

His breath hitched in his throat. The poisonous words rooting themselves into his brain and growing louder. Glancing around he was in the classroom. His professor stood over him, her brown eyes green and gold, black appendages shifting in the darkness. He could not see them, but he could hear their weight as they dragged along the floor. Her mouth - if the rows of jagged fangs could be called a mouth – opened. And her voice sounded like his late mothers. "Are you alright Jaskier?"

He clenched his fists. His hands were sticky. Red with something. He brought them closer to his face and sniffed, nose wrinkling at the smell. Wine? "I- I don't know. Am I dying?"

She didn't so much as walk over him but glided across rotting floorboards. Rot and moss sunk into the seats he sat between, and when she sat down next to him on the dusty floor her hair spread out behind her like a tapestry of the night sky. Clawed hands ran through his hair - parental, but nonetheless disturbing. "You were. Do you feel like dying?"

In her eyes he found the strangest array of colors. A ring of hues shining through the clouds on a full moon. The dance of stars in the sky. "Not particularly." He murmured.

The creature hummed, the very sound rumbling the very floorboards they sat on. They creaked when they shifted. "You're very lucky."

"I don't feel so lucky." Exhaling, he sagged where he sat. "Just hurt."

It chuckled at that, leaning closer. It whispered something, but he couldn't hear it. He already felt distant. Warmth pulling him out of the darkness.

"Jaskier? Are you alright?" Sitting up - ignoring the way his body burned - he gaped at the man sitting next to him. He was in bed - a real bed in an inn. The fire crackled in the hearth. He swallowed thickly. "Geralt?" He ventured. "Y-you stayed?" _No._ "You came back?" Outside it was dark. He could see the faintest outline of a building beyond the snowy haze settling around the town. From within the dark curtain of leaves on a decaying tree, multiple pairs of white eyes stared back at him.

Geralt speaking made him turn back towards the Witcher. "I found you on a job." He gestured towards the bard's body. It was only then that he noticed the bandages. "Are you alright?"

His voice cracked and his lungs tangled themselves in his chest. "I don't know."

Geralt reached out. His bare fingertips coming to rest on the back of his hands. Those eyes did not leave him, even as he shifted closer. "You're safe now." He whispered, gravely vocal cords spreading over his skin in flashes of hot and cold.

"But you left me." His brows drew together and if Geralt's hands did not weigh down his it would be trembling. "You sent me away."

"I did. And I'm sorry." Geralt's thumb rubbed circles onto the back of his palm.

"'I'm sorry,' he says." whimpering he leaned closer. "I had imagined it - over and over again: seeing you again and hearing you apologize. I would be angry and indifferent, while your lovely brutish self would struggle to be didactic for once in your life. But then you never came. I kept wandering, wondering what to do next. Thinking I would never see you again. I thought Destiny decreed it so."

Geralt chuckled bringing Jaskier's hands up to his lips. "Imagine my surprise, when I found you again." His breath was hot against his skin. Jaskier shivered. "Jaskier, I thought you would die in my arms. I had told myself that it was good that you weren't around. Safer if you weren’t there. I should be alone – because a Witcher’s life should only be of monsters and gold. But when I saw you there covered in your own blood..."

Jaskiers eyes were wide - partly because he had never heard Geralt speak so much in one breath, and because of the emotion is his eyes. The rest of Geralt's face didn't so much express as much as the small muscles around his eyes and brows did. For a moment, Geralt’s eyes flashed green.

The only noises that followed were the quiet ruffle of their movements. His hand ended up over his cuirass, and he wondered if the man's slow beating heart thumped a bit faster. Geralt's other hand rose up to cup his cheek and slide down to rest on the back of his neck. They pressed their foreheads together, and no words came between them. Geralt's steady presence served as a reminder.

_"You're safe now."_

Jaskier closed his eyes, bringing their lips together. They kissed: he tasted nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I had originally planned for the ending to be fluffy. But then it didn't turn out that way.


End file.
